


Making a Mess

by QueenNoPlot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, May Include Sarcasm, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Rough Sex, Self-Service, Spike - Freeform, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, dom!Optimus, valve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:48:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23181988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenNoPlot/pseuds/QueenNoPlot
Summary: IDW G1 AU where Optimus and Megatron ditched Cybertron together after Starscream was elected ruler of the planet.Alternatively: Optimus and Megatron would rather explore the universe and frag than sparksit Starscream.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Comments: 8
Kudos: 123





	Making a Mess

**Author's Note:**

> As long as I’m writing, Optimus will never get his work done.
> 
> For @_jezzibear_ on Twitter

When Megatron steps out of the washracks connected to the berthroom, he’s surprised to see the red and blue mech sitting at the desk and typing away. He sprawls himself on the soft berth – courtesy of convincing Optimus to trade in his ship for a bigger and better one – and props himself up on his elbow struts, chin in one hand as he stares at the other mech.

“I thought you finished that,” he says.

“My personal log, yes.”

“Oh? What’s that you’re writing, then? Poetry? Fiction?” The ex-warlord draws in a faux gasp. “ _ Erotica _ ?”

Optimus turns around in his chair and gives him an annoyed glare. “I am not writing erotica. You know that.”

“Do I?”

“I told you what I am writing several solar cycles ago.” He slowly spins back to the monitor. “Perhaps you were too busy trying to get  _high_ off of the last planet’s flower pollen to retain the information.”

“I was not trying to get high. I was showing you my appreciation for nature. You could even say I was trying to get  _ laid _ .”

Megatron rolls onto his back when that doesn’t get a response. The way the desk and berth are positioned, Optimus is facing directly away from him. It’s perfect for taking on a challenge: overloading without his knowledge. He waits for the Prime to get back into his steady rhythm before quietly, manually sliding his panel out of the way of his spike, which he coaxes to extend out of its housing in no time. Just the thrill of self-servicing literally behind his mate’s back gets his arousal up, and soon he’s got his hand into its own steady rhythm.

“You know,” Megatron vents, charge building, “I can’t remember when we last–“

“I spiked you yesterday morning.”

His hand falters and his spike hardens further at the memory – Optimus pushing him faceplates-first into the berth and making sweet, gentle love to him in the warm sunlight brought to them by their orbit around their current planet of interest.

“Yeah, well...half a joor doesn’t count.”

“Judging by the sounds you made, it most certainly did.”

“Hhh...I came embarrassingly quick...”

“You were  _ beautiful_,” comes that smooth, rumbling purr.

And there goes Megatron’s charge. It surges to maximum capacity, activates the release mechanism in his transfluid reserve, and fires up every sensor on his spike.

“Oh, fra-AHG! Uhh!”

Upon the pleasure dissipating, Megatron turns his helm to see a pair of bright, blue optics watching him without an ounce of surprise.

“You knew, you little–“

“You made a mess on my berth.”

A glance down reveals he has, indeed, spilled onto the berth as well as himself. The silver mech gives the Prime a sultry side-optic.

“Where would you rather I make a mess?”

He can see Optimus’ processor click from across the room, and when the truck’s engine revs his flight engine is already cued to rev back louder.

Optimus moves quickly, all but pouncing on his mate, who groans at the sudden drop of the massive weight of his conjunx onto his lap.

“I may have an idea,” the smaller warframe purrs, retracting his panel and rubbing his valve over the length of the shaft just behind him.

Megatron grabs him by his pelvic armor and growls. “Do you, now? I’m all audios.”

As irritating as it is when Optimus doesn’t remove his mask right away, Megatron has to admit that its smooth shape has a pleasant feeling against his neck. Only when Optimus pulls back and sits up does he slide his mask away, no doubt for effect as that’s the moment he decides to reach behind him and sink onto Megatron’s stiff rod. The look of relief and pleasure on his faceplates coupled with the low moan that escapes him sends excitement down the larger mech’s spinal strut.

“I like this idea,” Megatron groans as Optimus takes him to the hilt.

That gets a sideways smile from his lover, who promptly begins moving. A breem or two into it, Megatron gets restless and tries to thrust, but it’s inconvenient with those _sinful_ gyrations b eing performed on top of him. He digs his claws into hip seams in an effort to halt the movements.

“Optimus,” he pants. “Faster, or– Ah...let me...”

The red and blue mech slows just a fraction, one step away from driving Megatron mad.

“Ask politely.”

“Ugh,  _ Optimus_!” He tries to thrust again, but to no avail. “Fine... Please!”

“Good mech,” Optimus purrs. He leans forward, hands on Megatron’s chassis, and pulls halfway off his spike and growls. “Frag me how I like it.”

“Yes!” Megatron gets a better hold on his pelvic armor, puts his peds flat on the berth, and bucks.

Fans and engines roaring, the two dissolve into moans and groans and cries of pleasure, with not a care in the galaxy for their volume. By letting Megatron do all the work, Optimus should have been able to hold off on his overload longer, but he proves incapable of holding it in when Megatron starts pulling him down against his thrusts in a brutal pace. When he overloads, he at least manages to drag his mate with him. With a few final clangs, the silver mech arches off the berth with a shout and dumps his load deep inside the Prime’s constricted valve, fingers scraping at his pelvic armor.

Optimus takes his fair share of paint as well, moaning at the familiar sensation of hot transfluid filling him until it overflows out of his valve. Consequently, the mix of transfluid and lubricant spills down their arrays, down their legs, and onto the berth.

“Megatron,” Optimus rumbles where he lay on top of the mech.

“Hmm?”

“We made a mess.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me HERE: queennoplot.tumblr.com


End file.
